


The Dreams Are Lovely, Dark and Deep

by Anonymous



Category: The Dresden Files (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares, Flashbacks, Gen, Magic, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29080542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Harry tries to fix everything. Bob has to clean it up.
Relationships: Harry Dresden & Bob (The Dresden Files - TV)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	The Dreams Are Lovely, Dark and Deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StopTalkingAtMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopTalkingAtMe/gifts).



“Look after him,” Justin said, adjusting his tie and peering critically into the mirror. He flicked a speck of dust off his shoulder, before slipping into his coat. “He shouldn't get into too much trouble, but with his previous upbringing, I can't trust that he hasn't picked up some terrible habits.”

Bob mentally rolled his eyes, and was vaguely grateful that at least as a spirit, he always had the option to disappear before his annoyance became too great. “I'm certain that he won't present a problem to me.”

“He does seem fond of you,” Justin mused. “I'm pleased to see that he's put aside at least some of his childish complaints to focus on his much neglected education.”

Oh, you mean his childish complaints like his father being dead, Bob was tempted to say, but Justin was in a good mood and there was nothing to be gained by bringing up the sorest subject of all.

Someday, Bob feared and knew, Harry would discover the truth, and he could only hope that by then, Harry would be equipped enough to handle it.

It was Bob's duty to make sure Harry was able to control and wield his magic.

It was his responsibility to make sure he stayed out of trouble.

It was his guilt that would keep him adhering to it all.

* * *

“Uncle Justin's gone?” Harry asked, wiping the milk from his mouth. He frowned. “He didn't say goodbye to me.”

Bob looked at him, and wanted to smile at his hangdog face, but he kept it stern as the cool, implacable instructor he needed to be. “He left very early,” Bob said. “There was no need to wake you, especially considering that you have a full day ahead of you.”

Harry groaned, a bit too theatrical for Bob's taste. “Really?” he asked mournfully. “Uncle Justin's gone. Can't we just consider it to be a vacation?”

“Harry,” Bob said. “You know the reason--”

“Fine, fine,” Harry said irritably. “I know. No rest for the wicked or something stupid like that. Always be vigilant, stay on your guard, don't be lazy--”

Bob's urge to smile increased, and it was all he could do to push it down. “So you have learned something,” he said. “That's a relief. I was beginning to worry that all my teachings had come to naught.”

Harry grinned. “Never, Bob,” he said. “You know I'll always listen to you,”

Perhaps you shouldn't, Bob thought, but those were more words that, much like the crimes he kept buried within him, should never be heard by Harry's ears.

Let him be happy, Bob thought. Let him be safe.

Even if it's a lie.

Harry was a good student, Bob thought. He wasn't brilliantly insane or a once in a millennium genius, able to do feats of magic the world had never seen. It was probably a blessing he wasn't more like Bob.

He was something more terrible. He was creative.

“But if I just--”

“Harry, no!” Bob said appalled. “You do that and half this wing explodes.”

Harry frowned. “I don't see how--”

“Of course you don't,” and Bob was trying so hard to keep from snapping, to keep his voice level and calm even as his best (and only) student was eagerly trying to join his mentor in the astral plane. “That's why you need to learn the fundamentals first. If you haven't mastered the basics, experimentation is foolhardy and will lead to your death.”

Harry's face fell, the mulish expression leaving it. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I just thought it might work better this way.”

Bob sighed. “It might,” he conceded, but as he saw Harry's face brightening, he knew he'd have to temper that excitement. “It could also kill you. So keep practicing until you get it right. Then we'll see.”

“Yes,” Harry said, somewhat subdued, but there was still a hint of excitement in his voice. Bob made a mental note to keep a closer eye on him. After all, he was pretty sure that if Justin's nephew did manage to destroy the house and/or himself, not even death would keep him safe.

“So back to basics--”

Harry's shoulders slumped.

* * *

The rest of the day, Harry seemed to take Bob's advice to heart. He concentrated on Bob's lecture, he didn't mess around, and everything seemed to go off without a hitch.

The operative word was seemed. There was still something up with Harry that Bob didn't trust. Oh, he was doing everything by the book and yet there was a curious sort of energy in him, something that seemed pent up behind his mild eyes.

Bob sighed. “What is it, Harry?” he asked. “I know that you have something on your mind.”

“It's just,” and Harry bit his lip. “Are you happy?”

Bob blinked. Where did that come from? He wondered. “Harry,” he said cautiously, “why are you asking this?”

But Harry put his head down. “Never mind,” he mumbled. “It was a stupid question.”

“No question is stupid, Harry,” which wasn't entirely true, Bob thought, but he was trying not to crush the boy right away. Life would do that sooner or later, and if he could keep Harry from learning that particular lesson at a young age, well then...

“This one is,” and no matter how much Bob coaxed him for the rest of the day, Harry refused to say another word.

That night, Harry went off to his bed, with nary a complaint. He didn't ask to stay up later, he didn't want a glass of milk. He was quiet but didn't seem upset, unlike the terrible days when he first came, a ghost that alternated between sobbing, raging, and the worst, a silent blankness that felt unending.

Bob knew what that was like, which was why he urged patience. Understanding. Compassion.

Foreign words to Justin, but he did recognize that a grieving boy might make for a terrible student, his mind already consumed by other matters.

Bob thought about hovering, about going into Harry's dreams, but in the end, he decided against it. Harry had had enough of people messing around in his life. The least he could do was let his sleep go without invasion.

He would realize later that this was one of the worst decisions he had ever made.

In the morning, nothing seemed to have changed at first.

True, the house seemed hushed and quiet, blanketed in a sudden snow that had rolled in. Bob had his doubts if the housekeeper would show up now, since it was already ten and she was nowhere in sight.

But that was fine, he reasoned. Harry was old enough to make his own food, to willingly clean up his room, to bathe and dress on his own. A day or two wouldn't kill them.

But the snow. Bob looked at it, the sheet of white that seemed to spring up from nowhere, and there was a chill in him, a feeling he thought impossible to have. Memories that he pushed down seemed to take the snow as their canvas, painted out in gory detail until he banished them from his mind.

And Harry was still not up. If Justin was there, he might have said something, chastised Harry for his tardiness, and Bob for his neglect, or his inability to discipline, but Justin wasn't there.

He should do something, Bob thought. He should--

The door opened and Harry came stumbling in, rubbing his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn't sleep well.” His thin arms stretched out of his pajamas, and Bob looked, frowning.

“I didn't know you had outgrown those,” Bob said. “Justin will have to get you some new ones.”

Harry looked at his wrists, then tucked his hands away into his robe. “I guess,” he mumbled. “I kind of liked these ones.”

“You're late,” Bob said, in lieu of a discussion that would go nowhere. It didn't matter what Harry liked, after all. Justin had made it perfectly clear that his tastes were tainted by his previous upbringing and therefore, Justin would have to take charge of his appearance, especially when he was out in public.

“I know,” Harry replied again, softly. “I apologize.”

“Just don't make a habit of it,” Bob said, and he watched as Harry grabbed his breakfast.

Did Harry's face always look that thin, that pinched?

It must have been the bad dreams.

* * *

He let Harry take a break early, after he realized that the boy's attention had wandered away, fixed on the snow outside.

“Did you want to go out?” he asked uncertainly, and was both relieved and unsettled when Harry shook his head without saying a word.

“I'm just tired,” Harry said, setting his head down on the table and yawning.

“Fine,” Bob said. “We'll take a short break for now.”

Harry looked grateful through his yawns and soon his eyes were closed.

Bob could not find the same peace, so he closed the door and drifted over to the library.

To be clear, he thought wryly, this was not the same library that Harry was used to seeing. Justin's main library had books of all sorts, many magical in nature, but none were particularly dangerous or destructive. If a wandering eye or a young hand got a hold of one of them, the worst they could do was give themselves a nasty headache or perhaps break a vase or two.

No, this library was Justin's true baby, the pinnacle of his achievements, and he kept it locked up quite tightly.

Which is why when Bob entered it, he right away felt something wrong. No, nothing seemed disturbed at first glance, and yet it felt... differerent. As if something had been there or was still there.

He had to be imagining this, right?

He paced around the room, looking for something, anything that seemed different, and yet, nothing. Nothing was missing, nothing was wrong.

But something...

Frustrated, Bob left the library, quite forgetting why he was going there in the first place.

Harry was still asleep when he entered the room, his soft breathing soothing to Bob's frazzled nerves.

It was all right, he told himself. If the boy takes one day off, surely, it won't harm anything. He'll pick it up tomorrow and they can get back on track. If Justin asks, he'll simply say that Harry was feeling unwell, no doubt because of the weather, and he thought it prudent to give the boy some time to recuperate.

Pouring knowledge into a fevered mind was just as pointless as pouring water onto dry stone.

So Bob sat back and let himself drift, as the snow fell and the only sound was a boy dreaming of something Bob didn't dare let himself see.

The clock on the wall was a soft reminder of the day passing and Bob thought, I'll give him a few more minutes. Just a few and then I'll wake him.

An hour passed.

Two hours passed.

Harry was still sleeping, and Bob felt reluctant to wake him, but at the same time, this quiet sleep disturbed him, reminded him of the older days when all Harry would do was the basic functions required of life.

So he carefully said, “Harry?”

Harry buried his head even further in his hands.

“Harry.” Louder this time.

Harry's eyes opened blearily, unfocused. “Bob?” he asked quietly, his voice soft and hoarse.

“You've been asleep for a few hours,” Bob said.

“I didn't mean to.” Harry wobbled slightly as he sat up, his mussed hair far more endearing than it had any right to be. “I'm sorry.”

“It's all right,” Bob sighed. “But you should eat something.”

“I'm fine,” Harry said. “I'm not really hungry.”

And that was the next sign.

* * *

Harry didn't really eat dinner either, picking at his food, until Bob frowned. He still didn't finish it however, and he went to bed early, again quiet and acquiescent.

If he slept well, though, Bob didn't know. You didn't really dream when you were a spirit, but somehow, Bob found himself falling into the pattern, slipping into a dark void that sucked him under before he knew what was happening. It was not the first time it had happened, but whereas previously, it had been a seeming eternity of nothingness, broken by a pull towards light and energy and a voice commanding him to service, this was...

Well, it was worse.

_Hrothbert laughed as he tossed the body aside._

_“Useless,” he sneered. “Utterly fit for nothing but to became clay in my hands.”_

_Even as he said that, the body shrivelled under his feet, its withered expression making it look like that of a man in his most ancient time, rather than someone who had been but twenty years of age a moment ago._

_He could not remember who the man had been or what, if anything, he had mattered to him. It could have been a peasant or a lord, a man with a family waiting for a father that would never return home, or someone whose death would go unnoticed, to be added to the pyre of bodies to his name._

_What did it matter? He had served his purpose._

_Hrothbert, for his part, could feel the strength returning to his limbs, could feel the energy revitalizing it. His heart beat stronger, and he thought:_

_I can do anything. Anything I want._

_It was an intoxicating feeling and he cherished it._

_Nothing to stand in his way. Not anymore._

Bob opened his eyes. He was surprised to find himself materialized, hovering over the dimly lit chairs that lined Justin's library. The candles were half lit, and he wondered who had done it.

Had he?

Had—it couldn't have been Harry?

He left the room in a hurry, the pale sunlight of dawn streaming through the windows. But rather than the smooth glide and virtual effortlessness of materialization, this felt sluggish and awkward, as if he were back in his early days, still adjusting to his new confines.

He tried to leave Harry's room to itself, leaving one space that Harry could be assured would belong to him and him alone. But the dream and the day before both conspired to make him nervous, anxious, and he broke a vow to himself he did not remember making.

“Harry!”

He wanted to pound on the door. He thought about just shifting in, apologizing later for the incursion. He did neither.

As it turned out, Harry had already beaten him to the punch.

The door opened wide. A figure stumbled out, bare-chested and ungainly. It stopped short, looked at Bob. Then he looked down at its body, terror clearly in his eyes.

“Bob?” Harry said, and the voice did not crack, did not falter. Of course, it wouldn't.

Not at that age.

“Oh, Harry,” Bob said, and the void returned, dropping him down to a pit where the horror overtook him. The dream came back too, less a memory than a terrible prophecy of what was to come.

“What have you done?”

* * *

Harry didn't know.

Or rather, Bob amended, Harry might have an idea, but wasn't going to let on in the slightest to Bob. He just sat at the table, awkwardly fidgeting in Justin's borrowed clothes. Obviously, his previous wardrobe was out of the question, so Bob hoped Justin might forgive the “borrowing.”

Of course, that were much greater problems than a stolen pair of pants and shirt.

“Harry,” Bob coaxed. “I need to know what you did, so we can fix this.”

“Nothing,” Harry said, and it was strange to hear it come out low, smooth, no cracks in its surface. It was the voice of a man, not a boy, even if it was tinged with the same reluctant stubbornness and a palpable sense of terror that made Bob's heart ache.

“I'm not going to yell at you,” Bob said, “if that's what you think. But you do know this is serious? It's not exactly something you can hide from your uncle.”

Harry lowered his head, obviously struggling with something. His hands nervously wrapped around each other, nails ragged and his feet tapped on the floor. His energy felt uncontrolled, like it might explode out from him, scorching the world for miles.

Knowing Harry's power level, he probably would, Bob thought and almost wanted to smile if it wasn't so deathly serious and he so terribly scared.

Justin would be furious, though the dread he felt on explaining what happened to his master's precious nephew was nothing compared to the mounting fear he felt on thinking that maybe this was something that couldn't be fixed.

No, Bob thought, with a new sense of purpose, he could fix this.

“Bob?” Harry raised his head, looked at Bob. His eyes were red-rimmed, but there was a focus behind him, something usually reserved for when Harry found a part of a lesson he was interested in

“Harry.” Bob almost took a step back at the intensity radiating off of Harry.

“If I ask you something,” Harry said, his voice quiet, soft, but firm, something hard hiding behind it, “will you tell me the truth?”

Bob felt something sinking in the pit of his stomach, a void opening into the darkness. “I--”

“Did Justin kill my dad?”

And there it was – he was falling into nothingness, as everything rushed up around his ears. The one thing he never wanted to reveal, the truth that needed to be buried until Harry was older, stronger, able to stand up on his own.

“Harry--”

“I'll take that as a yes,” Harry said, and quietly walked out of the room.

Bob wanted to open his mouth, to say something that would stop him, but what could he say that wouldn't sound like a weak excuse, a pale attempt to justify something that was unforgiveable?

He watched Harry leave and did nothing.

* * *

The worst part was that Harry didn't even react with anger.

The snow was still falling outside, Bob's guilt churned within him, and he had no idea where to even begin if Justin called to check on them.

But Harry wasn't throwing a tantrum, wasn't breaking things or screaming his rage out. Bob couldn't even feel any residual magic lashing out, which given Harry's lack of control over his new body and the depth of emotion he must be feeling, would seem to be inevitable.

Instead, it was nothing. It was the blank sheet of snow, a suffocating presence that meant everything was silent, cold, as they both drifted around the house, managing to avoid each other. If Harry ate, Bob didn't know.

So Bob couldn't talk to him, couldn't explain why he had done what he had or hidden Justin's crime for so long.

He went to Justin's library, but it was still untouched, still quiet, everything in its proper place and wasn't how this started? Everything under Justin's control, neat and orderly and used to its most effectiveness. And then Harry comes in, all mess and chaos and sweet random problems, and for once, there's something that told Bob, you don't know how this is going to end, but don't you want to see how it will?

Which means Harry needs to live, needs to grow.

He wondered if Justin would call, not really wanting him to, and yet also horribly wishing he would, so this mess would just be revealed.

No, Bob thought, you don't want him to call. Harry's not ready. He's still a boy in the body of a man, a child, and he's not prepared for anything Justin might throw at him.

He needs time. He needs space. He needs...

Well, you'd like to say you, wouldn't you. Bob couldn't even disagree with the voice in his head that said that, only to add, but he doesn't deserve you.

He deserves better.

* * *

Harry did show up when it got dark, the night coming on so gradually to Bob's dulled senses that Bob only blinked when Harry wandered into the study, his feet quiet on the carpet.

“You should have told me,” Harry said, his mouth quirking wryly, “but I guess I understand why you didn't.”

“Harry--”

“I'm so angry,” he said thoughtfully. “Because Uncle Justin killed him just to get me. And the worst part is that it's my fault. If I hadn't had magic, if I had just been like Dad--” His voice broke, cracked, and it didn't matter whether Harry was eleven or twenty or a hundred, it still hurt Bob to hear that sad little voice wondering why it had happened, why he couldn't save his dad, why he had to be alone in a house with a man he didn't know and a ghost he couldn't trust?

Bob reached out and he wanted so badly to gather Harry into his arms, to hug him, and warm him because everything was so cold and Harry was so pale. “Harry,” he said softly. “It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. I was the one--”

“You could have told me, Harry said, still sobbing, still broken and sad, and this can't be fixed, this can't be saved, Bob thought, there's nothing to do but-- “He was my dad.”

“I didn't want you to be hurt.” Bob knew it was empty words, meaningless, but he still needed to say them. “Anymore than you already were and if you tried to go after him--”

“I'd fail, right,” Harry muttered. “Because I'm just a kid and I'm too weak. That's why you won't let me help you either right. I have to be older, stronger, to do anything.”

“Harry,” Bob said, and then it was something clicking in his mind, a door opening and he thought, no, it can't be anything like this, it can't be. “What were you trying to do?”

Harry said nothing, his sobs softer but still coming forward.

“Was it something to do with your father?”

No, Bob thought. This came after. He didn't know about Justin.

“Was it something to do with me?”

Harry's face went blank and he stood up, wobbly and uneasy. “I'm going back to my room,” he said quietly. “I want to be alone.”

So that was it, Bob thought, as Harry left.

Don't kid yourself, Bob. It's your fault again.

* * *

_There's an anger in him that's like a flame. Others always try to snuff it out, but it never goes away not completely. It can be a bonfire or a candle, but death doesn't stop it from burning in him._

_He wants revenge, he thinks. He wants to make someone pay._

_But he doesn't know who._

_He drifts through years, through decades, passed around, and his skull keeps him tethered, a punishment, to be sure, but also a promise that one day, something might change, might give him a chance to be more than a simple servant._

_Justin Morningway is his latest owner, a man with sufficient intellect, resource, and if he has an irritating propensity for grandiloquent speeches, he at least has the good taste to not inflict Hrothbert to them constantly._

_“My nephew will be arriving,” Justin says one day. “He will be staying with us now that both of his parents are dead.”_

_Hrothbert mentally shrugs, indifferent to it all. “Fine,” he says. “I suppose you expect me to teach him.”_

_“He is a bright child.” Justin drums his hand on the table, looks vaguely smug. “He may be a bit behind at first, since his magical talent has been neglected by... less responsible individuals, but now that I've taken charge of him, I believe you'll find him to be eager to absorb your teachings.”_

_We'll see, Hrothbert thinks, but he only nods._

_Harry arrives the next day, a solemn quiet child that looks at Hrothbert and says with a frown, “That's too hard to say. I'm going to call you Bob.”_

_Hroth—Bob doesn't protest. What is a name, after all, when there are far bigger plans at work? Because this boy looks at Bob and the fire inside Bob thinks, this child is destined for greatness._

_No wonder Justin did all he could to secure his magic._

_Bob smiles at Harry. “Bob, it is,” he says. He leans close to Harry, his mouth filled with mischief, an whispers, “Would you like to learn some magic?”_

_Harry nods._

_Seven years later, when they kill Justin, and Harry's telling the Council through a face filled with tears that he doesn't know what happened, Justin collapsed out of nowhere, Bob's so proud of him he can barely speak._

_It's just the beginning._

* * *

Bob bolted awake.

He shook the remnants of the dream away, and frowned. It was wrong.

That wasn't how it happened.

But it didn't feel like a nightmare or a fantasy. It was a memory dropped into him, something that didn't dissolve into wisps of nothing, but clung to his mind, as if a page was neatly inserted into the book of his life.

No, Bob thought. Everything was wrong.

Including that shadow.

There was something in the corner of his eye, a darkness that slipped away, and Bob tensed.

Something didn't belong here, wasn't right, and he pursued it through the darkened house, through hallways and past doors. Thankfully, it didn't make its way to Harry's room.

Instead, it seemed to be heading towards Justin's library.

Well, it explained the sense of invasion he felt there. If there was an outside presence, seeking to attack them, then perhaps...

Oh, surely, Harry had to be more intelligent than to make a deal with...

Bob immediately amended that thought before it had a chance to fully blossom. Harry absolutely would do something reckless and stupid if he thought it could help someone out.

Inside Justin's library, a few candles burned, and the figure had come to a stop.

“Show yourself,” Bob demanded. His power wasn't what it used to be, but if this was something out to hurt Harry, he had no choice.

Besides, they were in his house. The advantage a wizard or a servant had on home territory was nothing to be sneered at.

The cloaked figure raised its hand, making a complicated gesture. The symbols lit in the air before him, blue and cold.

It was familiar.

It was also something Bob hadn't seen in hundreds of years.

The bolt hit him and he flew onto his back, energy wrapping around him, binding him. It wasn't meant to kill, he knew, but to incapacitate. It didn't make him feel that much better about it.

He could barely speak, barely choke out, “Who--”

The figure raised its hood.

The man's face sneered, and his eyes were cold as he stared at Bob with contempt.

“So weak,” he said. “No wonder he's weak here too.” He made another gesture and the bindings sent a bolt of pain through Bob that left him reeling.

Bob's eyes closed, his mind clinging to one thought before it slipped away into darkness.

No wonder Harry trusted him.

I never told him not to trust me.

* * *

Bob awoke with a start.

He was back in his skull, and there was a lingering sense of weakness to it. He felt drained, tired, as if he had gone through a particularly taxing spell and now there was the aftermath of it .

A spell? He had been...

And then it came crashing back to him, the events of the night before washing over him like a tide. The dream, the stranger, the binding...

The face that he saw if he looked in the mirror, now contorted with an anger that was far too recognizable from previous memories.

Harry, he thought, but before he made it even a few steps out of Justin's library, he realized he must have been far more tired than he thought.

“Bob,” Harry said. “You're up later than me.”

He was smiling gently, a quiet sadness, sipping a cup of tea. He looked even more drained than the day before, and he was leaning on the wall to brace himself. Wrapped in a robe, he looked fragile and sick.

He also looked at least a couple of decades older than the previous day.

“Harry,” Bob said. “You're--”

“This sucks.” Harry drained his tea. “Everything hurts and I feel like my bones want to leap out of my skin. Not that I want to happen,” he added. “Having your skin removed sucks.”

Bob narrowed his eyes. “You sound like you know that from experience.”

Harry's eyes glazed over and he looked past Bob, towards something only he could see. “You ever had a dream that felt more like a memory? That's kind of where I'm coming from.”

“Harry,” Bob said, and he didn't know quite how to say it, but he was just going to go for it. “What did you do? You know why this is happening.”

Harry shook his head, the light in his eyes coming back into focus. “I wanted to help you,” he said, his smile soft and sad. “And I thought you wanted me to help you too.”

“Harry--”

“But it wasn't you, was it,” Harry said. “Or I mean, it was you, but like not really. This magic shit is really confusing.”

“I don't think so,” Bob said. “It was someone who looked like me though, wasn't it?”

“Yeah.” Harry shrugged. “You asked me to help you. You said you were trapped in your skull and that something bad was going to happen to you if you didn't get out soon.”

Bob felt himself grow cold with rage. Whomever that other... him was, they had manipulated Harry so easily and effectively by preying upon his weakest point, that of wanting to help out people.

People he cared for.

But let's be realistic, another voice in Bob's head said. He wouldn't have been so easy if you hadn't made it that way. You should have prepared him not to love people, even you.

Especially you.

“Harry,” Bob said. “We need to figure out how to stop this.” He peered at Harry. “Are you--”

Harry very carefully and slowly toppled backwards, the teacup crashing onto the floor as he followed suit.

“This is unacceptable,” Bob said, his voice tight and cold. “I am going to kill me when I get a hold of myself.”

* * *

Thankfully, Harry quickly recovered from his fall and made his way over to the table, gingerly setting down on the chair. He was still woozy, but his eyes were bright and the soft slow sluggishness had diminished.

“You know I remember a lot of things that didn't happen,” Harry said. “It's really weird. Like I'll be sitting on my bed, trying to put on slippers, and then I'm like, oh, yeah, Uncle Justin came back and tried to kill you again.”

“Again?” Bob blinked, remembering his own memory. “You know he's still alive,” he said cautiously.

Harry waved his hand. “I mean, yeah,” he said. “But like, I also have this memory where you helped me kill him when I was a teenager and then we covered it up.” He laughed. “Man, Morgan was so pissed.”

“Morgan?” Bob racked his memory, trying to come up with a face to the name. “The enforcer?”

“I think so,” Harry said. “We killed him too.”

“Oh.” Bob said. “You--”

“Yeah, I don't think I'm a very good person,” Harry says. “I feel like whomever I'm remembering really didn't like the Council. Or his uncle. Or anyone, really.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“I liked you though,” Harry added. “Like a lot. I think you were the only one.”

Bob nodded. “That was probably a bad idea.”

“Maybe,” Harry said. “I don't regret it, though.”

If he could, Bob would have flushed. He settled for clearing his throat. “So the other me? What exactly did he ask you to do?”

Harry closed his eyes, clearly trying to remember. Eventually, he opened them. “I don't really know,” he said. “It's mostly blurry. I think there was a binding of some sort and maybe a blood thing.”

“Harry!”

“I know,” Harry said and his voice got desperate, frustrated. “I messed up and I jumped into something I shouldn't have. But the more I try to think about it, the more it goes away.”

Bob frowned. It sounded like his other self added something to blur memory. Effective, he thought, with a tinge of reluctant admiration. Make it so the person you're binding doesn't even remember doing it in the first place. “Well, this can't last,” he said. “It's accelerating. Yesterday, you aged nine years and today it's more like two decades. At this rate...”

“I'll die,” Harry said. “Right? I'll get too old and my body will give up and I'll just die.”

“Don't say that,” Bob replied helplessly. “We can fix this. We can still--”

“How?” Harry's voice grew sharper. “We're running out of time.”

“I'll find a way,” Bob said. “I promise.” He looked at Harry, and tried to paste on a smile. “I promise you, I won't let you down.”

Harry slumped, then his face perked up.

Bob immediately got suspicious. That kind of thing never boded well.

“It happens when I fall asleep,” Harry said. “Right?”

“Yes,” Bob said. “It doesn't look like it's triggered in the daytime or I'd be noticing the changes in real time.”

“So it's simple,” Harry said. “I just won't sleep.”

He looked triumphant.

* * *

The problem with that plan, Bob thought, was that it didn't account for the fact that someone who was rapidly aging and having their energy drained at the same speed would naturally feel the demands of sleep hitting them harder than someone in good condition. It was very ingenious. The only way to slow it down was to stay awake.

Damn, Bob really was an asshole, he thought.

“Harry!” he said and Harry blinked his eyes, yawned.

“I'm not tired,” he said. “I'm just resting my eyes.”

“You're falling asleep,” Bob said. “You need to—”

“You haven't found anything in Justin's library?” Harry asked. “Nothing.” His tired face looked hopeful, and Bob hated to disappoint it, but...

“Nothing,” he said. Of course, he wouldn't. Bob even checked his own grimoire and nothing there but a rudimentary beginning to something that theoretically could be turned into something greater. If his other self had invented this, it wasn't something that transferred directly over to this world.

What was he trying to do? Bob thought. Why on earth would he come over to this world and try to trick a boy into giving up his power here? What was the end goal?

Was he really so terrible that no matter what world he lived in, he would destroy the one person he should be protecting?

“Harry!” Bob said, but he could see Harry's eyes closing, could feel the same pull of energy being drawn away from himself. The snow, the sleep, all of it was designed to quietly muffle them into oblivion.

No wonder they couldn't reach Justin. Hrothbert was making it perfectly clear that whatever happened, Bob and Harry were on their own.

_“I missed you,” Harry says. “Did you have a nice time?”_

_Bob grins, all teeth that cut like knives, but are sheathed very carefully for one person. “It was a chore,” he said. “Not difficult, just annoying.”_

_“I should have been there.”_

_“You really should.”_

_Harry smiles at Bob._

_It's not a smile he shows to anyone else. Outside the house, Harry Dresden is a name to be feared, someone who doesn't take betrayal or disrespect lightly. He walks through Council meetings and even Ancient Mai bows her head in angry recognition that whatever the scared little boy used to be, he's no longer that boy anymore._

_He's a monster._

_And he has a monster at his side. Harry and Bob. Such nondescript names for such terrifyingly effective killers. Even the fae world negotiates with them, preferring to have them as allies than as enemies._

_After all, everyone knows what happened to Bianca._

_The only argument is over who's more deadly._

_With Harry, it's a flick of a hand and a body falls to the ground. He steps as neatly over them as his uncle would, but whereas Justin undermined himself with pretensions to glory and renown, Harry just likes to keep his place exactly where it is._

_He doesn't want to rule the world. He just wants to have it exactly the way he wants it._

_But Hrothbert's history, his creativity, his –_

_The smartest of the wizards don't bother determining whose the bigger threat._

_Why would you? It's clearly both of them._

_And God help anyone who tries to split them apart._

* * *

“Bob.”

Harry's voice is low, urgent. He's calling for him, pleading.

Bob struggles through the fog in his mind, trying to break free.

“Bob.”

The voice is more of a command now, a summons. Bob needs to obey.

“Bob!”

Bob opens his eyes.

Harry is next to him. He smiles as he sees him.

And Bob does too. Because this Harry is one he hasn't seen for a few days. He's short, stubborn, and clearly a child.

“Harry?” Bob can't help but feel relief, elation upon seeing his student whole, healthy, completely back to--. “How did you do it?”

Harry shakes his head. “I didn't,” he says, and he tilts his head.

Bob follows the direction of his head, and sees someone sleeping on the table. An old man, worn and snoring softly, barely audible. He's still wrapped in a robe and his hair, sparse and white, falls limp over his head. His skin is like paper, translucent. One touch to it and he could break.

This is the Harry that Bob fears to see, the Harry that one day, he knows he'll have to watch die. But he thought he'd have years before that, not days.

This boy has lived for a little over a decade. He should have longer.

He should look like...

Bob turned back to the child.

“I'm not him,” Harry said. “I'm not your Harry.”

Bob reached for his Harry, his hand passing through. He couldn't touch him, couldn't soothe him, couldn't do anything but call his name over and over, and know that once again, he was absolutely useless.

“He won't wake,” Harry—Dresden said. His hand hovered over his other self's hair. “Not at this point.”

“So why are you here?” Bob said coldly. “Gloating?” He was tired, he was scared, he was angry at everything he is and has become and will ever be. He can't save Harry, and when Justin comes back--

He'll welcome the punishment. Hell, maybe Justin will be merciful and just kill him at once.

But Dresden, still looking so heartbreakingly identical to his Harry, looked at Bob with complete earnestness and said, “I'm here to help you save him.”

And Lord help him, Bob believed it.

* * *

Dresden followed him into the library, his feet light and steady. Bob, so used to Harry not daring to follow him, to go any further than he was allowed to, was unsettled.

Dresden, for his part, seemed deeply amused about it all. “I was never allowed here either,” he said. “Justin was terrified I might discover how I could actually take him down. I'm guessing the same is true of your Harry as well.”

“Something like that,” Bob said. “But I don't think he was as much of a threat to you at his age as you are.”

“True,” Dresden said thoughtfully. “You aren't nearly as ruthless as my Bob. My Bob told me right away the first week I came there. He leaned down, and whispered in my ear not to trust my uncle.” Harry smiled. “Then he said that I couldn't do anything about it yet. I was too young, too weak, too stupid to be able to get my revenge. But he'd teach me.”

“You were--”

“You're much kinder than him,” Dresden said. “I wonder if it's because--.” He stopped. “Well, I guess I don't know,” he added. “And anyhow, it doesn't matter. We're just here to save your Harry.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Bob asked. “I get that you're here and you say you want to, but why should I trust you? And don't say it's because you're Harry Dresden. You're not mine.”

“No,” Dresden said. “I'm not. And that's the problem. Because while your Harry looks 91 and is really 11, I'm 91 and look 11. Equivalence. An equal change of energy from one being to another.”

Bob's heart sank. “So that's what it is,” he murmured. “You want to be young again. Then why would you?”

“You don't get it,” Dresden said grimly. “I don't want to be young again. I'm perfectly fine being my age. I've lived a long life, none of it particularly good. I'm ready to move on. But my Bob isn't.”

“He's doing this for you?” And now it made complete, horrible sense to Bob. Of course, he'd do anything to save Harry. He'd lie, cheat, murder, even strip another Harry of everything until he was nothing but a withered husk just so he could give his Harry a little more time.

Bob couldn't say that the idea had never crossed his mind. Not the one of crossing dimensions to find another version and drain him dry, but doing something to protect Harry, to keep him safe from harm.

To keep him alive.

What wouldn't he do?

“You get it, don't you?” Harry said softly. He smiled at Bob with a certain amount of pity in his eyes. “Wanting to save me means destroying everyone else. And as much as I'd love to stay alive, I can't let Bob destroy another us.”

“I've heard your story,” Bob replied, his voice firm. “You don't strike me as the giving or generous type? Why wouldn't you agree with him on this?”

“Because at heart, I'm still Harry Dresden,” he said. “That doesn't change, no matter what I do. I can kill my enemies, remove my obstacles, destroy everything I see as wrong and bad, but if you ask me to destroy an innocent person who has nothing to do with this beyond having the misfortune to share my face, the answer is always going to be no.”

“You really are Harry, “ Bob said quietly. “Damn it all.”

“By the way, you won't find anything in his actual library,” Dresden said. “Bob didn't get it from any of his books and he certainly didn't write it down in any grimoire. Didn't want anyone else getting a hold of something he created and letting it be undone.”

“So this is useless.” Bob wished he could kick something in frustration. “There's no book, there's no ritual, there's nothing that can be followed to reverse.”

“But there is residual energy,” Dresden said. “Bob's left a trail that you can seize upon. More importantly, it's not a very complicated ritual if you already possess the linked item.”

“Linked item?” Bob peered at Dresden, then it dawned on him. “You mean you.”

“Exactly,” Dresden said. “You may not have the words, or the trappings, or any focus, but you don't need them. Not if you have a willing sacrifice.”

It hit Bob with a horror even as it clicked into place. “You're asking me to kill you.”

“I'm asking you to send me back. You break the link, he'll come, and then...” Harry opened up his hand. A dark globe of marble lay clutched within. “I'll take us to where we belong. I'll take us home.”

A shudder passed through Dresden. “What is it?” Bob asked. He could feel the strangeness though, too, the unfamiliar feeling of different magic creeping through the house. It still lingered in this room, but now it felt as if it was growing stronger, a presence making itself even more known.

“You had better do it quickly.” Dresden rolled up his too long sleeves on his coat. He was impossibly dwarfed in the swath of material and yet it was just as endearing on him as it was on Bob's Harry. “I think my Bob is on the way.”

“Harry!” Bob said. They had left him alone, sleeping in the other room.

It couldn't be too late. It must not be too late.

* * *

The house was shrouded in darkness. Bob moved through it as though he was moving through molasses, the shadows rising up to clutch him, as insubstantial as he was.

The windows were completely blacked out, no trace of light shining through save for a beam of pale moonlight that lit up one narrow path. Everything was silent as the tomb, and any noise Harry and Bob made echoed throughout the house. All in all, Hrothbert was definitely leading them somewhere, and Bob had a pretty good feeling he wouldn't like the ultimate destination.

There were times where he felt like they might rip him apart, leaving Dresden to finish the quest alone. And he wasn't entirely sure he could trust Dresden to do it, not when Hrothbert might convince him that what he was doing was right, was necessary, was the only way to save his life.

Hrothbert was very convincing when he set his mind to it and Bob had had years to know Harry, to know what buttons could be pushed and what order to do them in.

It would be a night and a battle where Bob wasn't sure he might win. Not with all the traps that Hrothbert had thrown at them. 

It wasn't surprising, though. Hrothbert always was a damn good magician, no matter what form he was in, and that wouldn't change over the centuries.

Bob scowled as Dresden deftly maneuvered through them. “We shouldn't have left him alone,” he said. “He might already be--”

Dresden shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “I would know.”

“How would you--” Bob stopped. Right. That part was obvious. “Did Bob really think that you being a child was the best move?”

Dresden's mouth quirked. “Well, it's not as though he can control it,” he said. “The spell drains and refills in equal measure. He needs Harry to stay alive long enough for the years to transfer over, and he wants to make sure that there's enough time. Besides, you're a sentimentalist. I think you'd like to start from the moment you met me.”

Bob flushed. “I would think,” he said, “that he might want to avoid the awkward teenage years.”

“But that's the best part,” the voice said, and they both stopped. The figure materialized out of the shadows. “Well, they're all the best part,” he said, “but that's what this is about. Not missing a minute of it.”

“So you finally reveal yourself,” Bob said. “Honestly, it's a bit dramatic.”

“We always did have a flair for drama,” Hrothbert said, his face becoming visible in the pale moonlight. “And you can't say that you wouldn't do the same.”

“I can, actually,” Bob said. “I would never endanger Harry Dresden, no matter what universe he's in.”

Hrothbert scoffed. “Please,” he said. “Hrothbert of Bainbridge would never harm someone in order to achieve his goals.”

“Not Harry,” Bob said quietly. “Never Harry.”

Hrothbert's smile was thin, knowing. “Oh, I wonder about that. You do know that you'll hurt him someday. You may not even intend to, but you'll do it all the same. And the worst part is that you'll tell yourself you did it for the right reason. You did it to protect him. And we all know that's a lie.”

“Shut up,” Bob said. “You don't know--”

“But I do.” Hrothbert's voice was low, coaxing, so reasonable as he spat poison at Bob. “I know what it's like to see Harry walk down a dark path, to have him do something you convince yourself he was always meant to do, and then realize far too late that there was always a hundred other paths you could have taken and they're all closed to you now.”

“I haven't--”

“You will,” Hrothbert said. “Which is why you won't even get the chance to do it. Just give in, Bob.” His eyes gleamed with madness. “Since I know better, let me have the chance to make it all right. You don't have the strength or the power to do it. I do.”

“Go to hell,” Bob said. “And better yet, never come back from it.”

“You really think you have a chance against me?” Hrothbert's smile mocked him. “You want to fight me for him, even though we both know you'll lose.”

He stilled suddenly, realizing something. “Wait?” He said. “Where's--”

“I don't need to fight you,” Bob said. “Harry's already doing it for me.” His mouth quirked. “In fact, I'd wager they both are.”

“Harry,” Hrothbert said and he was speeding through shadows, Bob on his heels.

They materialized in the study, and Dresden was bent over Harry. His wand was in his hand and there was a seal up around them, protecting them if only for a moment.

Bob gazed with pain at Harry. He was barely moving, his face sunken in. His eyes were open, but he seemed unware of his surroundings, his mouth moving in nothing more than vacant, automatic responses.

“Harry!” Hrothbert said. “What do you think you are doing?”

Dresden lifted his head. His face, so young, was resolute and determined. “I can't let you do this, Bob,” he said. “Even if it's for me. Especially if it's for me.”

“Stop this at once,” Hrothbert pleaded. “You can't—you don't understand. This will work. We can fix everything, start over. Have a new life, one where we make it right.”

“We won't make it right by committing this wrong,” Dresden said, bending low and murmuring over Harry. The light intensified. “You know that I can't live with this. I can live with everything else, but not this. Never this.”

“Harry--”

“Don't they deserve happiness too,” Dresden said quietly. “Even if it's not us.”

“I won't let you--”

“You'll have to.” Dresden's face was smiling, but there were tears in the corner of his eyes. “You know I'll always love you. In this world or the next or wherever we find ourselves.”

“If we go to hell,” Hrothbert said softly, “I won't stop until I find you there.”

“I'm counting on it,” Dresden said.

The light grew almost blinding. Harry's eyes opened wide, focused on Bob.

“Harry,” Bob said helplessly.

“It's okay,” Harry mouthed and then--

Nothing.

* * *

It starts with a terrible idea.

A terrifying, simple idea.

Harry frowns, rubbing at his temples.

“Really,” he says. “I used to be so much better at this when I was younger. Sometimes I wish--” and then he stops. “That's probably dangerous talk,” he says. “Someone might hear and want me to make a deal with the devil or something.”

Bob snorts. “I'm pretty sure even the demons are terrified of you at this point. I don't think they'd dare to.”

Harry grins. “You're probably right,” he says. “And we all know Mab hasn't gotten over that other thing.”

“You'd do humiliate her in front of half her court,” Bob says.

Harry waves his hand dismissively. “I'm not afraid of her.”

“And she knows that.”

They exchange a knowing glance and that's that.

"What about tomorrow," Bob asks. "Are you planning on attending that conference?"

Harry shrugs. "I could, but I really think that a few of the insignificant ones will likely try to hex me if I do so and Ancient Mai is already planning to poison me with something delightfully painful and permanent. So it's not really a safe place to go."

Bob shakes his head. "I could always murder them all," he says. "It wouldn't be that hard," he adds. "One simple Doom Box or a mass banishment spell and everything's taken care of for good."

Harry laughs. "As tempting as that is, I do need a few people around to follow my lead. If I got rid of everyone that challenged me, I'd just bring in new enemies that I'd have to get the dirt on."

"So practical," Bob says. "Sometimes I do wish you retained the creativity of your childhood."

But not really.

Because Bob remembers Harry's wish and thinks, well, why not.

Why can't he start over? Why can't we both?

He searches through spells, through books, through his memories and those of people around him.

He searches through worlds.

And then he finds what he's been looking for.

A small child, scared and alone, easily convinced by just a simple sentence that Bob needs to be saved, that he's dying and if they do just this one piece of magic, well, Bob will live and be free. 

He finds a path to a better future. It's not his, not exactly, but it can be.

And if he feels shame, guilt, any shred of remorse, he locks it away because Bob may feel this, but Hrothbert does not.

Hrothbert only does what is necessary.

Saving Harry Dresden.

* * *

Bob woke up, aware that he was forgetting something, and equally aware that he had no idea what that was.

“Harry,” he said quietly, and he didn't know why that filled himself with a sense of panic and dread, only that it did.

He had to find him. He had to--

“Bob,” Harry said. He walked into the room, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “I had the weirdest dream. It was you, but then it wasn't and then--”

It rang against Bob's mind, like a spoon hitting a glass, and then it fades away. “I suppose I must have had the same dream,” he said cautiously. “Do you remember anything else about it?”

Harry shook his head. “Not really, “he said. “It kind of goes away the more I think about it.”

“Well, it must not be that important,” and Bob shook his head, to brush aside the lingering cobwebs of the dream. “Now your uncle is gone for a few days, so he asked me to look after you.”

“Uncle Justin's gone?” Harry asked, the sleep leaving his face. He frowned. “He didn't say goodbye to me.”

Bob looked at him, and the words came out automatically even as he felt that there was something wrong about them. “He left very early,” Bob said. “There was no need to wake you, especially considering that you have a full day ahead of you.”

Had he said that before? But no...

Harry groaned. “Really?” he asked mournfully. “Uncle Justin's gone. Can't we just consider it to be a vacation?”

Bob opened his mouth to say no, and then stopped. Outside, the snow was falling softly. It must have been a sudden winter storm, because Bob could swear the day before had been a clear, sunny one.

“Harry-” he said.

Harry sensed his weakness and seized upon it. “Besides,” he said triumphantly. “It's snowing. If I was in school, they'd let me have a snow day.”

“Which is why you're not in your old school,” Bob said sternly. “We have a lot to catch up on and not that much time to do it. There's so much--”

“Please, Bob,” Harry said, and his voice was so filled with hope and wistfulness that Bob couldn't keep the stern expression from cracking. He noticed a smile tugging at the corner of his cheek.

It's just a day, a voice said in his head. He'll have plenty of time to grow up.

Plenty of time to--

Bob shook his head, let the smile out. “A half day only,” he said in mock sternness. “And then you're going to have to work doubly hard to make up for it.”

Harry cheered. “I promise I will,” he said. “I definitely won't let you down.”

“I know you won't,” Bob said.

Never.

* * *

Twenty years later, Harry frowned thoughtfully.

“You know it's funny,” he said, “but you remember when I first came to the house.”

“I am aware of it,” Bob replied. They were both still recovering from the mess with Justin, which left them both sluggish and low-energy. Aside from a brief call to Murphy and a less polite, but still necessary report to Morgan, neither had entertained any visitors.

It was vaguely similar to the days before all of it had happened, when it was just Bob and Harry and the world lay stretched before them.

“That one day when Justin left and it was just the two of us.”

“You'll have to be more specific,” Bob said dryly. “There were a number of absences.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “The first one, the one where you let me take a snow day.”

“A half day, if you're recalling correctly,” Bob said, “but yes, I do remember it.” It was a dim memory, lit up by Harry's smile and the jubilant glee he had in running around outside, free to do whatever he wanted.

“I don't think that dream was a dream after all.” Harry scratched his head. “I think it was something that really happened.”

Bob thought back to it, to his own portion of it. He seemed to recall a Harry that was not his Harry, a Bob that was not him.

A time that was not his time and yet seemed intimately familiar to him.

“Then what do you think it was?” Bob said. “Or rather, how did it exactly happen?”

“Maybe it wasn't something that was meant to be,” Harry said. “Maybe it was a glimpse at a future we could have had.” He looked down at his hands. “Though these do look really familiar to me.”

Bob smiled, then grew graver. “If it was, I'm glad it never happened.”

“I don't blame you for Justin,” Harry said, apropos of nothing. “I know why you didn't tell me. And as mad as that made me at the time, seeing what he's capable of... twice, is a pretty clear indication that there's no way in hell I would have been able to handle it as a child.”

“Perhaps not,” Bob allowed. “But I do think you were much stronger than I gave you credit for. You've always been far more resilient. I think that Justin underestimated that.”

“He underestimated you, Bob,” Harry said, and he smiled at Bob. “Justin always thought that he could control anyone, force anyone to do his will because of who he was and what he was owed. You showed him that wasn't the case.”

“I--” and Bob stopped, embarrassed by the rush of sentiment swelling within him. “I would do anything for you, Harry.” The words stuck in his throat, and he swallowed.

“I know that, Bob.” Harry's voice was still tired, the strength coming back, but it was warm, comforting, and spoke of surety and faith. “I've always known that.

* * *

Bob sits at Harry's bedside.

Harry smiles at him. “Oh, Bob,” he says. “You really should stop crying.”

“I'm not crying,” Bob replies. It's a lie and they both know it. “You should have let me--”

“Never,” Harry says, and he reaches out to clasp Bob's hand. “I wonder if they'll be happy,” he says. “I hope--”

Bob snorts. “Always thinking about other people,” he says. “Take some time out for yourself.”

“I thought that's what we had been doing,” Harry murmurs. “Or are you telling me the thing with the Red Court was purely for your benefit alone.”

“True,” Bob says, and they both laugh. “Oh, Harry, I didn't mean to--”

“You did,” but Harry's voice is more kind, less judgmental. “And I refuse to blame you for it. I just couldn't let you do it either.”

Harry closes his eyes and Bob moves closer. “Harry?” He panics, clutching at Harry's hand.

“Not yet, Bob,” Harry says, tired but also amused. “Believe me, I'll let you know when it's time.”

“You'd better,” Bob says.

Harry smiles, falls asleep. Bob checks his pulse. Strong and steady, even after all of that. He should have known better,, he thinks ruefully. No matter how dark the path, Harry will always find a light.

Bob, for his part, stays by Harry's bedside, refusing to leave. Someday, Harry will leave him after all.

He knows Harry wants him to keep going. Use the body he's earned through blood and sweat and tears and a few sacrifices of some very unpleasant people to start a new life.

And he will, for at least a while.

But he made another promise to Harry, even if Harry doesn't remember it.

Wherever Harry goes, Bob will find him.

To the ends of the earth.

To hell itself.

To—well, that's another story, now isn't it?


End file.
